The English Lieutenant's Woman
by xxAngelOfMusicx
Summary: What if Mr. Bennet had only one daughter? What if he died before he could save Elizabeth from ruin. AU where Anne and Darcy are mutually bethrothed and Elizabeth is a self-imposed fallen woman.
1. Chapitre Un

Note: I'm back for another shot! It's been a long ass time since I've written anything decent. This is a draft. It's rough and unbeta'd.  
I've been thinking of this for weeks and I had fun writing it! All questions will be answered im future chapters!

This is a Pride and Prejudice fanfic inspired by John Fowler's The French Lieutenant's Woman. Criticism is very welcome. Light reviews are deeply appreciated too!

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Meryton was a small town just north of England, about 23 miles from London and an estimated ten-mile radius of the Great North Road. The town was inhabited by simple, small folk and the gentry. Most of them were simple-minded but had great draconian and pious opinions, condemning every single soul that made them suspicious of _immorality_. About 5 miles from Longbourn, an almost neglected estate owned by an obsequious clergyman, was a forest, gilded by thick green trees and wild shrubbery and foliage. Due to the frequent visits by courting couples, it became a de facto lover's lane during the summer and several of the elderly generation had demanded the authorities to fence, gate, or barricade the forest to prevent amorous couples from ever frequenting the place.

But of course, those are only rumors. Could it ever rang true? Was the forest truly a sanctuary for such immoralities? Perhaps. They never really knew. But the opinion of the place remained. Some felt the place evoked Sodom and Gomorrah in them and therefore it was enough to claim the place unworthy to explore. With the reputation of the woodland established, people even avoided to look at it, fearing of being accused of having connections with it.  
The history of the forest was not long and complicated. It wasn't marked by hidden headquarters of refugees during the French Revolutionary Wars nor was it a landmark recognized by someone prominent. No, it was simply the forest. There was no significant event that esteemed the place.

Some of the younger generations, however, possessed an entirely different perspective and not at all bothered by this. Although, they do believe that their utmost duty was to maintain propriety.

On 1814, a member of the peerage visited Netherfield Park, a fine estate situated a good distance from Meryton. The west view vantage point of the estate was the trees. The wife of the Earl expressed her elation for she was a lover of nature (and unaware of Meyton gossips). Not quite fatigued by London society but tired from the same and old company, the Earl decided that a vacation for a few months could ease their worn nerves.

When they arrived and caught sight of Netherfield, the Countess of Matlock eagerly climbed down the carriage. "What a fine thing to gift for Anne and Fitzwilliam! Yes, indeed. This estate shall be our gift, husband."

The Earl of Matlock shook his head to tamper down his wife's exuberance. "I think Pemberley is enough, dear wife. I do not think Fitzwilliam would be as happy as you once he discovers you give this as a wedding gift to him."

"Oh you misunderstand me, sir. I only mean to give it to them for their honeymoon. Look at how peaceful it is and it will be greatly beneficial to Anne during their stay. Imagine the long walks and the fresh air? Oh surely they'd conceive Pemberley's heir immediately."

The Earl laughed in amusement. "I pity Anne's constitution in behalf of your amusement. She is very much like her namesake though may I say, my sister was as strong as a horse until she bore her first child."

His wife merely smiled wryly. "I only hope they actually love each other."

"Oh but they do." Said the Earl.

"As cousins, husband. I wish our nephew happiness and I would approve any woman who loved and is loved by Fitzwilliam. Oh but enough of that. Have you sent the letter? Have Fitzwilliam and Anne agreed to come here on Thursday?"

The Earl did not reply, uncertain of his reply would be. He settled in escorting her wife inside and reacquainting themselves with their old servants and tenants. It was his nephew's very duty to marry Anne so that the two families would remain connected. The Fitzwilliams were not as wealthy as the Darcys but unlike the latter who were untitled, they were a family of Earls. The current head of the Fitzwilliams was the third generation to be presented the Earldom. And though Anne De Bourgh was only half Fitzwilliam, Lady Catherine was determined to marry her only daughter to the scion of the Darcys of Pemberley.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had been resigned to his fate and now thirty and deafened by the simpering mercenaries consisting of mothers and daughters in London (not far removed from Lady Catherine's motives), he knew he had no choice but to marry Anne. She was a sensible lady. Well-bred and fashionable. She was a bit sickly as a child and her health, they feared, worsened as years passed but with the help of England's greatest physicians, she was recovered and happy in her convalescence.

"How quaint." Anne muttered, poking her head out of the carriage. "Yes, I think I will like it here." She looked back at her fiancé who was too engrossed in his book. The lady huffed and sat back in her seat.  
"How is it that William Blake interests you more than I, William?"

Mr. Darcy looked up at her and arched a dark brow. "Forgive me, my lady. I heard you the first time but I was too busy interpreting Blake's The Divine Image, discerning whether I misunderstood the four virtues and their purpose."

"Well then." She fixed him a cool stare. "Would you mind endeavoring me exactly how you can show _Mercy _and _Love _for me?"

"My dear," Mr. Darcy said, amused. "Why not?" She brightened up. "But do let me finish this first."

Anne could only sputter in shock, gaping at her fiancé. Knowing it would be futile to distract him out of his reading, she only stared at the environment around her and made comments about it. Meryton was lovely. She was never the city type of lady and she grew up in Rosings. An esstate fond of luscious and fertile gardens. She scanned her eyes, approving how Meryton seemed to appreciate its natural blessings. There were no beheaded trees to be seen.

"I find it rather singular of the ladies of the country to wander around unchaperoned, Will."

Fitzwilliam hummed, flicking a page. Anne continued, "There's a lady standing on top of a cliff, sir."

He lifted his brows, morbid curiosity striking him at once. "Is she about to jump to her death, Anne?"

"Not at all. She seems quite at peace. Just staring down at the land. She looks deep in thought." She turned away. Only to see Fitzwilliam staring at her. She demurred and blushed. "Do you not desire to see her, dear?"

"Perhaps we should get down and warn the poor young lady." Mr. Darcy poked his head out of the carriage and observed the young lady in the distance. The young lady's face was downcast. In her hand was her bonnet and wisps of her dark hair swayed with the breeze. Her green dress flapped around her and he was surprised to discover she was barefoot.

Fitzwilliam immediately told the chaffeur to halt. "Will, you can not possibly be fulfilling your jest! Let her be and let us continue to Netherfield."

He shook his head disapprovingly. "A gentleman is a conscientious man, Anne. I can not allow myself be only a witness to this."

"Get inside now, Darcy! This is absurd. You maybe a conscientious man but you are not foolish. This young lady might have enough sense to not actually jump to her death!" Anne hissed, stomping her foot like a petulant child. Fitzwilliam ignored her and ordered the chaffeur to deliver Anne to Netherfield at once.  
"Are you in your right mind, sir? She, unchaperoned and perceived as likely mad and you, an affianced gentleman! How could you? Get back here."

"Do not react like that, Anne." He calmly replied, not used to people speaking to him like that. "I simply wish the young lady safe."

"And how about I? Do you not wish me to arrive at Netherfield safe?"

"You are in good hands." He smiled tightly. "Anne, your health will not permit you to exert yourself too much. Get inside. Now." His tone brook no argument and his fiancée huffed before stepping inside the carriage. There were two furious blushes adorning her pretty face.

"If you find her to be a lunatic belonging to a bedlam or a wood nymph inclined to lure and devour you, do not come to me as though I left you unwarned, Mr. Darcy." She closed the door and, before the man could correct her it was _Sirens _who devoured men, the carriage started to go. Fitzwilliam grunted and rubbed his face. _Now _he was to spent his evening making it up to Anne.

Tucking his book in his coat, he started his trek.  
The young lady was still standing before he ventured the outcrop and Mr. Darcy wondered whether she was in her right state of mind. The green slopes of the wild mount was rich with flora and and the air cool and pleasant. When he had at once came into view and revealed himself to the woman, he found his body instantly rooted to the spot and his throat deprived him of the ability to form the very reason why he left Anne to check the young lady out.

The young woman was still staring down at the cliff, unsmiling and unmoving. She indicated no sign that she noticed him. An aura of misery and longing were about her, almost enshrouding her. Mr. Darcy was incapable to move a muscle, entranced by how still the woman was.

"My good woman, I can't see you here without being alarmed for your safety. I believe it is my d—"  
Fitzwilliam suppressed a shiver as she turned her head to him. He suddenly felt that going here was a mistake and that he had offended her to deserve such a look. The woman, to begin with, was _beautiful_. Not classically beautiful like the fair women in London who obsessed over their willowy frames. No. Finely carved brows sat upon two lovely dark eyes to look at him — or rather through him. The length of her lashes cast a dusky shadow on her pale cheeks. But above all, he was astounded and lost by the intensity of the gaze she pierced him. He stepped back, finally realizing the impropriety of talking to a woman he wasn't acquainted with.

Darcy suddenly realized he stopped breathing, mesmerized by the woman. She spoke no words; she said nothing. Her gaze was devoid of hypocrisy, artifice, and madness. Yet it was consumed by bitter suffering. Grief over what? Her look lasted three or four seconds before she resumed to stare downwards the edge. Mr. Darcy blinked, flustered, before he bowed, stumbling on his way back.


	2. Chapitre Deux

Author's note: Sorry, it took some time. The first draft of chapter 2 gave me writer's block. Lol. Hope you have fun reading.

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The history of the woman standing barefoot on the precipice of the cliff was not long but complicated. This woman suffered ever since she lost her father. Her legal guardian, the clergyman who was previously employed in his Aunt Catherine's estate as a parson, had not been generous to her. The daughter of the late master of the house— a gentlewoman — was reduced to being a maid. And not just a maid. She became a gardener, a cook, and her cousin's children's governess. She couldn't escape the place even if she wanted to. She had no money, no prospects, no family. She had little to recommend herself. Her aunts and uncles ignored her, refusing to help her. Her mother eloped with a clerk when she was but five, taking her only sister Jane with her. It wasn't surprising to discover that this woman was rumored to be non compos mentis*.

Her circumstances led her a hard life but she was educated but could she counted as sensible as well? Her papa had hired a governess to teach her politics, science, mathematics — subjects not fit for a miss like her or any woman for that matter — as well as etiquette, embroidery, and the like but the man had no son to dote on and his estate was entailed away to an idiot. Although, no one could not deny the love this Bennet man held for his daughter. His daughter Elizabeth reminded him of his late mother, Rosanna. Elizabeth was clearly a true blooded Bennet; curly chestnut hair, bright dark eyes, and intellect. At least his wife had a streak of fidelity when they conceived his sweet girl.

Years later, when the girl turned twenty, a militia visited the town. She had been running an errand for her cousin's wife. She was to buy ribbons and laces for a ball held by Sir Lucas the morrow night. The girl had no idea the picture she presented these soldiers. A basket in hand, her petite form clad in a red cloak and blue dress. She was the perfect prey. The little red riding hood.

On her way to the seamstress shop, she was flanked by two blond red coats. These men introduced themselves gallantly. Charming, chivalrous, and, jovial men they were. Elizabeth's first instinct was to excuse herself immediately and be done with her errand but Lt. Wickham — Darcy snarled at the name — had been persuasive. His fair beauty was compelling to the firm Elizabeth who was shying away from his gaze.

And no matter how many times she tried to tell him of her indifference, he didn't stop. Darcy couldn't call it courting or pursuing. Clearly, Wickham was manipulating another innocent girl. In this case, however, Miss Bennet had more sense at first despite ending up falling in his trap.

"So where is Wickham now?" Asked Darcy, his voice tight and posture taut.

" 'e went away, sir. Don't know where. Just left. There were gossips around that he learnt the Miss was with child and didn't want no responsibility." The stable boy said, brushing Darcy's stallion meticulously.

Darcy gulped. "And was she? With child?"

The boy shrugged. "Don't know, sir. She stopped going outside. We stopped seeing her, sir, and then folks just started seeing her again on that cliff alone. They sayin' she waiting for him there. That he'll return to her. Poor Miss."

"No child has been seen?"

The boy once again shrugged. "Dunno, sir."

"Is she sane?"

"Dunno, sir."

Darcy was feeling frustrated that this boy wasn't giving him the answers he wanted. "What do you know more of the lady? What do you _think _really happened, boy?" He asked impatiently.

Seeing the irate look on the gentleman's face, he treaded his words carefully. "Well, my parents 're saying she's no lady. That she's _Loot'n'nt's_ Hoer. But . . . " he stopped his brushing. "But I spoke to her once and I think her the nicest miss I've ever talked to. I don't know the whole story, sir, and I don't know what she's capable of doing." He sighed. "I don't think the story's entirely true but folks love gossips, sir, and they'd say anything to entertain themselves. She could be no wanton for all I know but y'know them. And they started to hate her. A lot of them used to like her."

"I see." Darcy said absent-mindedly.

The stable boy continued, "Anyways, the clergyman believed his cousin was a sinner—"

"What did he do to her?"

"I was just going to tell you, sir."

Darcy waved his hand. "Proceed."

"And he locked her up for quite some time. Didn't want her to touch his children or wander around the place. Miss Bennet liked long walks, sir. 'Tis why she's so healthy all the time, I think, and well, it was torture to her. After months, we started seeing her in Oakham Mount but the place is forbidden, sir. It's immoral to be there but we often see her walking up to the place and —"

"And then what?"

He paused. "The men, sir. Some soldiers, sir, newly stationed in the town heard these gossips and you know how it works." The boy grimaced. "They started following and asking her whenever they got the chance to see her, sir. They really thought she was a _whore _and she accepted their offers, sir."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did she really?"

"According to the elders, sir."

The gentleman rubbed his forehead. "And you think she didn't?"

"I don't know, sir."

"That is enough, young man. Thank you." Darcy said before tossing two coin to the boy. "Is he all right now?"

"Yes, sir. You can take him now." The boy said, pulling the reigns and giving it to the gentleman. "Good morning again, sir."

Darcy tipped his hat and mounted Ares, his sorrel-colored stallion. It was still early in the day. Anne and the two Fitzwilliams were still abed and though he was minutes away from breakfast, he had no plans to join them. He felt suffocated whenever they were near. The talk of the wedding exhausted him and he desired to get away from it all at once.

He looked around and smelt the fresh drew of the air. The sun was already peaking from the trees. Darcy urged his horse to speed up and halted him, looking up at the mount where he had seen the woman. He didn't know why he was looking up. Perhaps, he was expecting the woman to appear and look down at him. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for being interested in the woman's story.

_It is that Wickham's doing._

Darcy gripped the reigns tighter. _My god, it was his fault. His. _She could have avoided this tragedy if it weren't for his _idiocy. _He had Wickham in his clutches. He could have killed him and thrown him in a ditch when he tried to seduce Georgiana. But no. Damn it, no. He let Wickham go, convincing himself he'd turn into a new leaf and contented that the scoundrel would no longer bother _his _family. And this innocent woman had been sullied by Wickham. He felt rage boiling up his throat. Now, he felt angry at himself. Disgusted and ashamed.

He sneered. His stomach was lurching. He wanted to vomit. His hands itched, wanting to scour the whole area to find the woman and apologize. Darcy closed his eyes and let out a calming breath.

The sound of hooves broke him out of his thoughts and he followed the sound, seeing a flash of unbound brown hair and green clothing. Darcy kicked Ares and soon they followed the equestrian. Perhaps, the rider noticed him tailing her since he slowed down.

He wasn't expecting to meet the aforementioned lady so soon. And he certainly wasn't expecting his breath to be taken away. "Miss, I—"

"It's you." There was surprised recognition in her tone. ". . . again, sir."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, it is me."

She just looked at him with her dark candid eyes. Was she truly surprised to see him? He cleared his throat. "Good morning, Miss."

She blinked at him and her own horse started to squirm. "I . . . I," she paled but decided to be polite as well. "Good morning, sir."

"You have a fine horse." He said. Upon his word, was he truly making a conversation with this woman by telling her she had a fine horse? _Apologize Darcy. _The voice inside his head said. He replied inwardly, _getting there. _

She was reluctant to reply — to open her mouth. "Yes. Yes, she is." Her eyes widened to see her horse nuzzling Darcy's hand. She pulled the reigns to put some distance between them. "She is saying thank you."

"You are welcome."

"Her name's Venus."

He nodded. _Ares, the greek god of war. Venus, the roman goddess of beauty. _He ought to laugh. "You are welcome, Venus."

She poised her horse ahead even though the mare was wanting to get closer to the gentleman's stallion. "I must go now, sir. Thank you for . . ." She glared at the horizon. "being polite."

"Where are you going, Miss?"

Her jaw clenched and her spine straightened. Darcy could almost feel the invisible barrier she's erecting between them. "I believe that is none of your concern, sir."

"No, I believe it is not." Her knuckles were whitening from her grip of the reigns. "I only mean to accompany you. I mean no harm. Upon my honour, Madam."

"Your honor means nothing to me." She muttered, her ears deaf of the _honour _she was promised. "Sir, do not delay me any longer. I plead you."

He was inclined to argue with her, to prolong her talk with him. "Miss, I only mean to give you company while I find my lady flowers. Do you know where they grow in abundance?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line but Darcy saw her wary eyes lit up in curosity. "I was about to find fresh flowers for the mistress as well."

He nodded. "Lead the way."

"Sir." She said icily. "You must not be seen with me. Do you know these woods and the gossips they come with?"

He feigned innocence and shrugged. "No. I'm afraid I don't."

"Then you must be new here." She said, resigned. "From Netherfield?"

"Yes. Forgive me. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy."

She looked at her her clammy hands holding the reigns, blanching for she was now required to speak her given name. She felt his expectant eyes on her, compelling her to _speak _something.

She wasn't expecting him to smile. "No worries, Miss. Anonymity would be a bit fun, don't you think? However, it's unfair since you already know my name and I don't know yours."

She let out a scoff. This was obvious because of the puff of smoke she exhaled. Still, even with her prudence, she obliged leading the way. Darcy smiled thinly. He felt her irritation with him as she raced her horse to the field. He looked at her form as she rode. She was quite possibly the most magnificent female rider he had ever met. She looked to be intimately bonded with her mare as he was with Ares. But as a gentleman, he could not approve of her riding astride it. It was inappropriate and incongruous. Anne never rode a horse in her entire life— a carriage pulled by horses didn't count. And he never allowed Georgiana to mount a horse without a guide.

Her face was bare, lacking any cosmetics often seen in the faces of some women. But she was pretty. Yet she didn't look delicate either. There was something oddly independent and free in her, transcending her misery and loneliness. Darcy clenched his jaw, thinking of Wickham and how he destroyed her. That demon destroyed her life. Her innocence. Her future. And he suddenly felt obligated to her.

"Your lady, what kind of flowers does she like?" The woman asked him, mounting down her horse.

Darcy looked at the stretch of land covered by trees and he was severely impressed with the amount of flowers thriving in the area. Pemberley needed this kind of fertile soil. He lifted his eyes to watch her bend down and pluck a couple of red flowers, resembling roses. He realized he hadn't answered her questions.

"She likes roses."

She didn't turn around but he knew she heard him. After grabbing her share of flora, the woman walked to her horse and took a kind of wrap for her flowers.

"What kind of flowers are they?" Darcy asked.

"These are begonias. They are my mistress's." She sighed. "Roses, sir, am I correct?"

"Yes." He looked at her intensely. Her pale hand went to her elbow nervously. "Did you plant all these?"

"Yes. When I went on long walks as a child, I—" she flushed and stopped, flustered.

"Please continue."

"No, I can't. We must hurry." She said before picking up her skirts and briskly walking up to a patch where red, white, and, pink roses grew. Once again, Darcy was mesmerized at the sight of her crouched down, picking assortment of roses. She hastened to him. "I do not know what color of roses your lady likes, Mr. Darcy."

"As long as they're roses, Miss. I don't think it would be a problem to her."

She nodded but made no move to give the bouquet of roses. She made quick various stops around the place, plucking pretty flowers and putting it into the wrap with the other roses. A minute and a half later, she handed it to him. "Here, sir."

He averted his gaze from her and looked at the collection of flowers. The sweet fragrance wafted to his nose. "They are beautiful. She will love it. Thank you."

She curtsied and mounted her horse, holding her own bouquet in her arms. Darcy mounted his own. "Shall I see again soon, Miss?" _To apologize. To offer her security and away from the prying eyes of this town._

She was blunt, he would give her that. "No. I don't think you shall, sir. I bid you good-bye." A single whip of reigns and her horse carried her away from him. Darcy's gaze dropped to the roses. At least he knew Anne would adore this. She need not know that the barefoot girl on the cliff gave this to him while the sun was rising to the sky.


	3. Chapitre Trois

Darcy was having an indolent afternoon. With his feet propped on the armrest of the couch and both hands occupied holding a cup of tea and a thick book titled Paradise Lost, the gentleman was a picture of carefree idleness. He had the library all to himself and perused the shelves thoroughly, promising himself to indulge himself with the Netherfield collection. But in the end, he sighed loudly and stood up. They had been at Netherfield for three days now and there had been no significant progress regarding their stay. Was the purpose of his stay only to affirm his aunt's opinion that Netherfield was indeed a nice estate for his and Anne's honeymoon?

He was not looking forward to it. The place did not interest him as much as Pemberley. Only of course, he was just being biased. He was a country gentleman too and he was not belittling this quaint country town since he preferred this place more so than London. Darcy massaged his temple. He was not used to such quietness. He was used to hearing Georgiana's playing with the pianoforte. For goodness's sake, even he, although begrudgingly, confessed that he missed Miss Bingley's incessant chattering.

Was he too spend the rest of his life with someone as quiet and reticent as he? He chastised himself for the negativity and prayed that he and Anne would have beautiful, healthy, and rambunctious children filling the halls of his great house with joyous laughter. Would that be too much to ask? He found himself thinking wryly if Anne would be strong enough to bear him children with no substantial age gaps.

Darcy exited the library, closing the door as he did, and passed Anne's chamber. The gentle sounds of a harp playing escaped the room and he forced himself to stop and peek into the room unnoticed. Anne was sat on her canopy bed with her silver harp between her legs. Her yellow hair was loose and it tumbled down her back prettily. Her eyes were closed as she strummed the instrument with her fingers. He noticed her lip was trembling and she was deathly pale.

"You play beautifully, Anne."

Her eyes snapped open and saw Darcy leaning on the frame of her door and smiling faintly. She beamed. Anne rarely saw him smile.

"An impressed Fitzwilliam. I shall take your compliment seriously."

Darcy shook his head and made no motion to leave his spot. Anne tilted her head. "Come now, dear. What has you so somber?"

"Is it a mere trifle. You need not be concerned."

His gaze went the vase beside her bed. It was the flowers he gave her two days ago. They were already grey and wilted. His brow arched. "You need to throw away those, Anne."

"What?" She asked. "Oh!" She followed his gaze. "That. Well, pay no mind to it. You rarely give me flowers and I consider that a token to keep for a long time."

Darcy chuckled softly in amusement. "Dispose of it, Anne. I shall get you more every morning if that's the case."

She blushed and nodded. "That would be nice." She agreed. "Any news about cousin Richard?"

A deep frown now marred Darcy's handsome face. He shook his head. "No. It's been more than 12 months since we last received his missives. With cousin Edward gone, Richard is Matlock's heir. . ." His voice trailed off.

Anne's eyes widened. "And if he does not come back, you shall take his place?"

Darcy nodded.

"I am grieved, indeed. On the bright side, my dear, the Darcys shall then be titled members of the peerage. You, a baron, and I, an heiress of a Marquee."

For a moment, Darcy was astounded by Anne's concern for titles instead of their cousin Richard's welfare. God, she is not unlike the ladies who had been after my fortune. Had he been fooled by Aunt Catherine into accepting Anne as his wife? Yes, her health was frail and she was delicate but she was, at least, pretty and had some . . . substance. Though not as accomplished as the ladies of the ton since her constitution did not allow her body much movement. She was a walking glass for goodness's sake.

Darcy sighed mentally.

"Of course." Waa his only reply.

"Oh, Darcy, have you seen the mad woman again?" Anne said, changing the subject. Darcy wished she would just play the harp again.

"She's not mad, Anne." Darcy said, trying hard not to snap. "She's a lady toyed by the fates."

She quirked a brow. "I have heard . . . stories of various accounts of her. She certainly goes around." The insinuation was loud and clear though subtly put. Darcy grimaced. It was no language fit for a lady like Anne.

"Anne, you know better than listening to rumors."

"William, my sources are impeccable." She sniffed.

He refrained from scratching his nose. "What is the point of all of this? Let the poor woman be."

"A forewarning for you, my dear. The country is a bit . . . different than the city. Particularly the women. They are somewhat less restrained."

Though annoyed, he humoured her. "What did these people tell you of this woman?"

She was delighted to know that she had the upper information than Darcy. Her eyes brightened and she bounced from her perch with a glint of her eyes that he could not describe. "You must know what they call her first, Will, for it certainly is the most interesting part of this." With his nod, she continued. "She's called the Lieutenant's Woman. Jilted and forgotten. And everyday, an hour before the sunset, she stands on top of the mount and remains there until night falls. Would you find it romantic, Will, if I tell you she's waiting for him to return?"

"I find it thus."

Anne's lips turned up. Darcy masked his face into one of ignorance and interest. "She should have been more cautious, shouldn't she, my love?"

"I think her imprudence may be blamed for her lack of affection. She was orphaned and subjugated to hardly menial chores that she has no right to as a gentleman's daughter. Her craving for attention, may it be good or bad, led her to this path."

Anne's brows disappeared into her hairline. Darcy flushed upon realizing he had talked too much and looked away.

"Fitzwilliam!" She exclaimed. "How do you know this?"

"A stableboy told me."

"You asked?" She seemed upset. She was upset.

"I was curious, Anne."

Her brows furrowed.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my dear. You know this saying. Why were you curious? Do you wish to know more of her? Have you then heard that you are free to call upon her whenever you wish?"

"Upon my word, Anne!" Darcy exclaimed in shock. "I am and will never be that kind of man."

"Nonetheless, you are a man!" She shouted, enunciating her point. "I expect not your fidelity in this relationship. Especially in our marriage. I am weak, Darcy, and my chances of giving you proper and healthy heirs are slim. I am painfully aware of that. I may even die in childbirth."

"This is absurd." He cried. "You are overacting, Anne."

"I wish you to know that I am aware, William." She said softly. "And I am insecure. I am not vain but I know I am pretty but that is not enough to establish affection between us. I know, before this agreement, you've been finding future Mistress of Pemberley. You desire a woman with fire. Intelligent enough to keep up with your battles of wits. And a woman with a healthy blush coloring her cheeks. I possess none of these." She smiled faintly at him with tears shining in her eyes.

"Anne, please . . ." He closed his eyes briefly. "I will never. I desire her not. I can not desire a woman accused of debauchery."

She sniffed. "I know. You're too proud for that." Anne said, recognizing his own faults. Darcy stood in silence before excusing himself and bowing, apologizing to her for one last time.

He rubbed his temples.


End file.
